Chapter Text
"Late again, Kuragin?"
Marya Dmitrievna glared at the girl before her, a notebook in hand and a pen in the other. She tapped the corner of her book with her pen in frustration as she watched Hélène Kuragin sway rather gracefully with a small innocent small stretching along her lips. If that stupid smile didn't irritate Marya, it was how underdressed she was. The younger girl wore a white tank top that clung to her body, showing off the delicate curves of her body, and shorts that hiked a little too high up her thighs. Whoever it was Hélène was trying to impress, it certainly wasn't Marya but as the head prefect, she was more than happy to record two violations in one morning in her notebook. As Marya grasped both ends of her book to open it, Hélène placed a hand over the cover, suddenly closer to Marya in a swift stride.
"C'mon, mon cherie. Can't you just let a girl get on with her life?" Hélène asked as she tilted her head slightly.
Marya snorted at her. "The only life I care about is mine and because of you, I've already wasted 5 minutes of it and my history class. So-" She pushed the slender hand off of her book and snapped it open- "That's two violations. Underdressed and late for the 5th time this month."
"Well, I wasn't aware of the requirements of our dress code. To be precise, I wasn't even aware that we had a dress code," Hélène murmured with a small pout. "Can the dress code slide this once? I'll let you jot down my awful punctuality but I promise I'll change the clothes."
Marya side-eyed Hélène with the same glare she had greeted her with but Hélène only responded with the batting of her eyeslashes. How this girl was so carefree, Marya didn't know and she didn't want to. She looked at her notebook and jotted down the violation, just the punctuality, before closing the book. She waved a dismissal hand at the other with a scoff when Hélène let out a small triumphant giggle. This wasn't going to happen again. If Marya had to write down 10 different violations from Hélène, she would do it without a moment's hesitation. This was an exception only because she was running late for a history test. 'Shit. I'm late-' Marya thought as she snapped out of her inner thoughts in a sudden flurry of panic.
Hélène skipped past her, brushing a hand along Marya's cheek that made her freeze. Not that it meant anything, but the audacity of that girl! She stood there as Hélène skipped off and waved a happy goodbye to her.
"Thank you, ma cherie~! I owe you one." She winked at Marya then took off running to her class.
Marya heaved the largest sigh of relief and pressed her palm to her forehead. "Thank God, she's gone," she muttered under her breath to no one in particular, raising her hands in the air as if she were actually thanking God.
At least Hélène cared about making it to class on time. Pocketing her notebook, she started to walk when she heard a footsteps rushing behind her and a familiar voice cursing at himself. Pierre Besukhov burst through the double doors of the school with a loud groan and bent over to take several deep breaths. Marya spun around to greet her friend and pulled her notebook out, already working on jotting down his violation. Pierre looked unbothered by it, still managing to offer her a small wave of a greeting. Marya chuckled softly and folded her arms over her chest, an amused look upon her features.
Pierre looked at her with his nose scrunched up in a grimace for the laugh then threw his hands up in the air. He tried to explain himself but his panting was all Marya could hear, save for some of the words that she had managed to catch such as 'bus' and 'delay' and 'running'. She went over to his side and wrapped an arm around him to steady him then led her down the hallway to their class, as slowly as Pierre needed to catch his breath. It was obvious this boy wasn't built for sports or anything athletic. He could walk up a flight of stairs and be on his knees, gasping for breath. It was troublesome and very frustrating for it was what delayed him from being punctual but he was grateful for Marya for tolerating with his punctuality.
"I'm sorry for being so terribly late, Marya. That stupid bus took off 10 minutes too early and I didn't want to wait for the next one. I couldn't! If I had, I would've missed the history test," Pierre wheezed as he clutched his bag close to his chest.
"It's fine, old friend... Haven't you gotten your driver's license?" Marya asked as she glanced at Pierre while they walked up the stairs.
"I have but my dad doesn't trust me with the car. They'd rather have me take the bus or taxi. Anything that doesn't put our car at risk," he responded with a dry laugh.
"I see..." she murmured
Pierre looked up at Marya, scrutinizing her expression. "Bad morning?"
"Head prefect duties, specifically. If it weren't for her, I would have been in class 10 minutes ago," Marya hissed.
"Rant to me later?" Pierre offered with his kind smile.
"Yes, please," Marya groaned gratefully.
Entering the classroom, they murmured rapid apologies to their teacher and took their seats. Andrei Bolkonski, who was seated in the far back of the class, exchanged greetings and nods with his friends and that was it before the class was silent again. A very deafening silence.
"Ran into the dragon, didn't you?" Fedya Dolokhov asked as he bit into his apple, grinning widely at Hélène who flicked a cornflake at him.
"Sure did. You'd be surprise, Fedya. She let me go," Hélène told him proudly.
Anatole gaped at her. "She let you go? She stopped me from going to class because of my hair...? For some reason."
"A pity, dear brother. Sometimes, you need to use my charms," Hélène teased and elbowed Anatole in the ribs very lightly.
"Sister, I believe females and males use their charms differently due to their biological... differences. I'd be called mad if I were to flaunt the way you do with your feminine features," Anatole said and gestured to her chest.
Hélène folded her arms over her chest and rolled her eyes with a soft scoff. She wasn't denying the whole flaunting bit but to call her out like that was humiliating. Her obnoxious younger brother, he surely was doing a great job with the obnoxious part. Subconsciously, she leaned into Dolokhov upon feeling his arm wrap around her shoulder and he pulled her close to him, hand rubbing along her forearm. She heard a laugh bubble up his chest and looked up at him. He was smirking at Anatole with a thoughtful look and by the way his nose crinkled, he was holding in his laughter the best he could. Raising a finger, he pointed it at Anatole and waggled it.
"If you do flaunt like she does, you might end up attracting a minority. You never know 'til you try," Dolokhov said and burst into laughter, Hélène joining him in amusement.
Anatole flushed a deep shade of red and huffed. "I do not intend to try it nor imagine it, Fedya. You despicable human being - "
"Now that would be a sight to behold," Hélène explained in between laughs.
"And with a blush like that, you're probably imagining it," Dolokhov pressed on.
"Haha- Funny, you two. Marvellous jesters," Anatole grumbled and applauded slowly.
Dolokov and Hélène laughed harder, doubling over with their hands clutching their stomach. Anatole could only sit and watch as they laughed at him but joined in when he started to find their laughing ridiculous. Their laughter sounded in the noise of the cafeteria, blending in with the usual haze of sounds that filled the place. It was a lively room and everyone was alive for that period of the day as they united with their gang of friends and gossiped away.
All but one table blended in with the liveliness of the room and that was where the Terrible Dragon, Marya, and Pierre sat with three others. Mary and Sonya Rostova, two bubbly cousins, and Mary Bolkonski, the phantom of the group. Marya stabbed her meatloaf with her fork repeatedly at each laugh from the Kuragins, the devilish sounds provoking her inner dragon. She could compare their laughter to nails on a chalkboard and see no difference, especially Hélène’s ear-piercing shrieks of laughter. Pierre and Mary watched the fork as it dug into the pile of mush, lifted then descended again. Natasha and Sonya were too busy giggling among themselves to notice their seniors and the meatloaf or even notice the loud laughter from the Kuragins and Dolokhov. Marya’s meatloaf was soon reduced into what looked like an awful faux mashed potato, and that was when Pierre snatched the fork out of Marya’s grip. The sight of the meatloaf was revolting, he could not stand the way it squelched and flatten so he just had to put an end to it. He placed the fork beside the plate and exhaled sharply, matching the glare Marya shot at him.
“Would you please stop obsessing over the Kuragins? Yes, they have quite the reputation and they’re howling in laughter, but you should put them out of your head,” Pierre cried out and threw his arms in the air.
“I am not obsessing over them, Pierre. They give me a headache. I shouldn’t have let that Hélène off this morning. I should’ve given her something to dread about,” Marya muttered through gritted teeth.
“They’re headaches to everyone but no one is talking about them. Be a dear and get on with life like I have,” Pierre said and clapped his hands together.
“How could I simply dump them out of my head? They’re right there,” Marya scoffed.
“By simply dumping it! It’s not as hard as you think,” Pierre interjected.
“Do you hear how loud they are? Anatole and his feminine voice. Hélène and that banshee of a laugh. I’m not so bothered by Fedya, I’ll let him off the hook. But those two, they’re worse than any villain I’ve known from films. They could be the twins from the Shining,” Marya rambled.
“Marya, do you hear yourself?” Pierre asked and rubbed his forehead. “Ignore them and move along with life. Easy as that.”
“Pierre’s right, Marya. Don’t let anyone get in your way of life like that,” Natasha piped up, the conversation having caught her attention.
“Now, Natasha, it isn’t good to eavesdrop and cut in like that,” Marya warned.
“Sorry, Marya but it’s true. I’m just trying to help Pierre out here,” Natasha said as she placed a hand over the male’s shoulder.
“I appreciate your help, Natasha. Your friend really needs to listen to others, if not one, a group of us,” Pierre stated and smiled.
“And now you’re ganging up on me, how lovely,” Marya laughed.
“A laugh! Finally,” Pierre exclaimed and leaned into his seat.
Marya kicked his ankle gently under their lunch table and rolled her eyes. The thought of the Kuragins did slip from her head but their laughter still rang in her ears. However, it bothered her less than it did before. Pushing away the plate with her ruined meatloaf, she rested her head on her hands and groaned. The thoughts of the Kuragins slipped but not of the incident that happened this morning. And just like that, her awful mood from before returned in a second. Pierre noticed the way her shoulders tense and reached a hand out to pat her back.
“Okay… Fine. Let it out if you can’t keep it in,” Pierre murmured in defeat.
Marya perked up and grinned.” Good! So, if you want to know what happened this morning and the whole pardoning with Hélène, it’s because of her smile.”
“Her smile?” Sonya asked and everyone gave a face.
“Not in that way! Absolutely not and never. As I was saying, she smiled at everything I said, no matter how I scolded, she kept smiling. It’s inhuman of someone to smile while they’re being scolded, is it not? She takes pleasure in that scolding, it seems. I can’t be too sure but I don’t like it one bit. It’s very threatening,” Marya continued and folded her arms over her chest.
“You don’t like anything about her, that’s clear,” Pierre mumbled, pushing his glasses up his nose.
“I’m glad you understand the context,” Marya interjected sarcastically.
“Look, that’s just the way she is. She smiles at everything, everywhere and any time. To be specific, she’s very composed. She was trained to carry herself properly since young, Anatole too. It’s all in the family,” Pierre explained.
“So, I’ve heard!” Natasha exclaimed. “I’ve heard this from Anatole. He’s told me about his family once, of how they were taught to behave and to make sure they don’t dishonour their family name. Awfully odd considering we’re not in the Victorian Era or something but, it’s just them.”
“We can’t judge them for being like them. We’re all headaches in our own way,” Pierre told Marya.
“If smiling is proper and composed, consider me neither,” Marya stated. “What I see is a fake bitch, talking in terms of our era. Now, I have to go, dears. I’ve got some things to do.”
“Don’t you always?” Pierre grumbled.
“Okay then… We’ll see you later, Marya. Come, Sonya, Mary. We have geography,” Natasha said hastily as she picked up her empty plate and bag.
“Finally,” Mary whispered as she stood up, picking up her belongings.
The three girls darted off after a small goodbye, and Marya and Pierre were left to clear their empty plates. Pierre tugged at the straps of his bag and gnawed on the insides of his cheeks, glancing in between Marya and the ground. Marya discarded her plate along with Pierre’s and they walked out of the cafeteria in silence.
Pierre had left her for algebra classes not long after they exited the cafeteria with a quiet goodbye. Marya strolled down the hallways and kicked at the ground as she walked. She emptied her mind, or at least tried to. She was a worrier and she hated to admit it. Pierre was always there to help her out with all these stresses but with an attitude as stubborn as hers, talking to her was like talking to a wall. She wished to change for the better but this was how she learnt to live independently. If not live, survive. It was how she became head prefect, it was how she earned her reputation of the Terrible Dragon and she wasn’t going to let her efforts go to waste.
She drowned herself in her thoughts, evaluating them carefully. She did this often, like mentioned earlier she was a worrier. Thinking to herself, she found herself absorbed into her own mind. Too absorbed, she almost missed two figures with a very unholy distance between them. Bodies pressed up together and that unholy distance was a non-existent gap. Snapping her head up to look at them, she stormed towards them. Who she saw, she wasn’t a bit surprised.
“Kuragin!!!”
A loud groan slid past Hélène’s lips as she turned to greet Marya with a lopsided smile. She waved a hand, or rather a bottle at Marya and let out a low giggle. The person pressed up against her was Dolokhov and he moved off of her to lean against the wall behind Hélène. His arm rested around her waist, hand flattened against her stomach and his head on her shoulder. Marya maintained a 2 feet distance between herself and the couple, her face a light red in anger. She knew that they weren’t dating for every week she would see Hélène with a different boy and it was a wonder whether she had dated all the boys in their small school, if that was even possible.
“What is the meaning of this?” Marya demanded and gestured to them.
“Intimacy?” Hélène chortled.
“That, and drinking in school,” Marya added and moved to snatch the bottle, finding it empty.
“I needed it. Numbs the stress,” Hélène explained with a shrug.
Hélène gave Dolokhov a brief kiss and patted his chest, a motion of excusing him. With a proud smirk, he saluted to Marya and skipped away from the scene with clean hands. Marya did nothing to stop him, her attention on the younger girl who was stretching herself out against the wall. She closed the distance and raised a finger to Hélène’s chin in a threatening manner but was greeted with the smile she hated and it stretched into a drunken grin.
“What are you going to do, ma cherie?” Hélène asked and chuckled.
“Your French is even worse when you’re drunk,” Marya sneered and jabbed at her shoulder.
“Would you prefer my Russian?” she argued.
“I’d rather not. Thank you,” Marya muttered dismissively.
“très bien, ma cher. So, are you going to waste my life or…” Hélène’s voice trailed off and she jabbed at Marya’s shoulder.
“No, but I will have you reported to make things quicker.” And her notebook was in her hand. “I’m not letting you off this time.”
“Merveilleuse…Go ahead, ma’am. I ain’t stopping you now,” Hélène murmured and smiled widely, patting the top of the notebook.
Marya raised her pen and clicked it, eyes narrowed as she wrote down the date then stopped there. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, sucking another breath in through gritted teeth. Was there not going to be a challenge? No bribing, no argument, no begging to spare her for this one? Lowering the notebook, Hélène still smile at Marya but the smile had shrunk into what was almost genuine. Marya wanted to sink into the floor and disappear right there. She couldn’t do it…again! That smile was enchanting and manipulative, which explained why she never got in trouble. That smile probably got her out of detention and risks of expulsion; her survival tool, much like Marya’s own fiery attitude.
“Are you just going to stare?” Marya asked.
“What more can a drunk girl do?” Hélène returned the question.
Defeat. “True…”
Everything ended there. Her notebook snapped shut with the written report and Marya pardoned Hélène for the second time of the day, weakened by Hélène’s passive attitude and smile. This was getting stupid but there was no way to win the battles she stirred up with the French girl. When it came to passive arguments, Marya couldn’t win them. Only when she threw offenses to weaken the other, she achieved victory easily. This gave her more reason to despise Hélène Kuragin. To lose to girl such as her was embarrassing and she wanted to change that, somehow.
Hélène didn’t know how to feel about being pardoned twice in one day. Trouble was something she ran into often and this feeling was alien to her. To be free from the dreadful disciplinary council and the principal. Freedom tasted bittersweet. In her drunken state, she managed her way back to her classroom, leaning against the wall for support. The day was nearing to an end and she hoped the alcohol lasted until then.
Returning home, the Kuragins entered their excessively large house in cautious silence, afraid of catching the attention of their father, Vassily Kuragin. The master of the house. He was a frightening man, and it was him who carved his children into perfection. Ever since his wife passed away, he aimed for nothing but the flawlessness of his family. He didn’t care for the youngest of the family, Ippolit Kuragin, but his focus of the older two was beyond anything. It was more of torture than care, and it made the older Kuragin siblings fearful of their father.
Anatole closed the door behind him slowly, trying to avoid making the slightest noise, while Hélène put their things aside. They bit their lips tightly, controlled their breathing and they walked on the tip of their toes, shoes in hand. Unfortunately, with how tipsy Hélène was, her efforts of being stealthy went to waste. She stumbled over a fold of the carpet and fell on her knees with a loud thud. She winced at the sound, and Anatole let out a gasp. Anatole bent down to pick his sister up but she struggled to get up on her own two feet steadily. Just as she could take a step forward, a figure loomed over them from behind, causing them to spin around to meet their father face to face. He was red in the face, almost a deep shade of crimson, as he stared at his children. The youngest was nowhere to be seen but Hélène assumed he was cooped up safely in his room. Standing there, Vassily glared at Hélène who returned the expression while Anatole stood beside her quivering in fear.
“Trying to sneak in, I see?” Vassily began. “I’m sure you’re aware that you’re in trouble, Elena.”
“It’s Hélène,” she corrected gruffly. “Now, what do you want of me, old man?”
“Don’t act stupid! You know your mistake. Didn’t you mother ever taught you to never steal?” the man bellowed, advancing towards Hélène.
Out of instinct, Hélène stood in front of Anatole, pushing the boy behind her before gesturing for him to go to his room. She wasn’t going to risk his safety, not for her mistake. Raising a hand, Vassily’s hand slapped her across the face, and she stumbled to the side a little from the impact. Her face stung but the alcohol in her veins numbed every pain receptor, converting the pain into an unsettling burning sensation.
“You steal my vodka again, and I’ll break you into a cripple,” Vassily growled as he grabbed the girl by the hair, dragging her into his room.
He slammed the door shut and locked it. He didn’t want any of the boys bursting into his room to fight for their sister. It had happened before and it resulted with bruises and blood from all four of them. They had put up a good fight but it was a horrible sight to witness a family beat one another up. With the doors shut, Anatole had exited his room with hopelessness to help his sister. He could fight but it would only risk getting his sister into a beating worse than what she was receiving now. Heavy-heartedly, he returned to his room and closed the door, locking it to keep out the horrors of his father.